Rambo Retribution
by We shall join you
Summary: John x Melissa - Chapter 5 Now up. Someone is trying to kill John Rambo, not an unusual thing, but who could it be this time?
1. Chapter 1

Melissa bundled herself into the small phone booth, her head lowered so her greasy light blonde hair fell over her face. One of her hands clinched to the loose fitting T-Shirt of her companion, she felt her fingers shaking but she couldn't tell if it was from the cold of the darkening evening or from fear. Her companion picked the receiver from the hook and dialled a number that she couldn't see. Maybe her shakes were from adrenaline, she tried to calm herself down and focus on the amount of rings she could faintly hear from the other end of the phone line. Her other hand tightened on the handgun she held in her fingers as a female voice answered, Melissa couldn't hear properly the exchange of words, but she could tell that the conversation was heated. As her eyes lowered to the weapon, she felt herself startle and tried tor recall exactly how she had got into this giant mess.

She already partially knew the answer, it was all due to her involvement with the man she was currently clinging to. Although when she had first met him, she hadn't realised that he would take her down the dangerous route that they were currently on. Their meeting had been an entirely innocent thing. He had helped her during a particularly sticky situation when she had been walking home from work involving a couple of shady characters. He had then offered to walk her the rest of the way home, and although the walk hadn't been entirely comfortable their friendship and relationship had grown from it.

Melissa lifted her head and looked out the scratched window of the phone booth upon hearing the sounds of sirens over the phone conversation. Her green eyes gazing at the top of the buildings around them, a blazing fire raging above where her apartment had once been. She fought back tears as she suddenly recalled Percival, her pet cat, being at home. The abrupt loss of memories that her apartment had held overwhelming her and a heavy tear fell down her cheek. She knew that she had to be strong to get through the ordeal, that she had to now give all her support to her man, after all it would be him that whoever it was would be after, not her. She was just a simple working chiropractor and generally cheerful character, often over looked as ordinary.

Her man on the other hand, was a Vietnam war veteran with an enemy list as long as his strong arms. Melissa let out a small sigh and rested her head against his chest trying to steal some of his body heat, feeling unrealistically cold and shivering. Shock, that must be it. Though she felt comforted as he rested his arm around her, when it came to affection her partner didn't often know how to express himself. Melissa had known this about him from the few months they had been together, which made the holding gesture all the more comforting.

"No. Two." He spoke into the phone clearly, Melissa could hear the conversation through the vibrations in his chest. The other side of the conversation was as hard to make out as ever.

"Myself and a friend," he enlightened the person he had called. Melissa assumed that it was someone that he had worked with in the past, someone he could really rely on. Possibly even someone that owed him a favour. She couldn't begin to guess what for.

Without a farewell he put the receiver back onto the hook, as quickly as she could, Melissa handed the handgun back to her man and he put into the back of his trouser, pulling his loose shirt over the back of it covering it from view. Melissa just felt pleased to have it out of her hands again.

Moving out of the phone booth she looked down the street cautiously, then her head raised to the fire again.

"Don't look!" He told her abruptly, and her head lowered again. His hand reached out for hers and she quickly fell into her place at his side. Her fingers coiling with his, her heart was pounding from when he had raised his voice to her and she felt a wave of panic and doubt in her mind. He set their walking pace to brisk and Melissa had trouble in keeping up.

"Where are we going?" Melissa asked, her feeling of panic was evident in her voice and she was met with a front of silence. "John?" She pressed again, hoping that the use of his name would bring about an answer, yet silence was all she was once again faced with. She had so many questions that she wanted answering. The one she had voiced was the most simple of them.

Melissa pulled her fingers away from Johns and stood in the middle of the street they had been making their way down. The drama of the entire situation adding to the emphasis of her questioning and speaking in a different, more timid manner. "Rambo?" Melissa found the use of his surname rolled strangely off her tongue, and she had never gotten used to the way it sounded. The use of it had gotten the reaction that she had wanted and he stopped a couple of paces in front of her.

Her face was one full of concern, "I love you Rambo, I really do. I trust you, but someone just blew up my apartment..." she started to speak to him and he recounted his steps towards her, him coming back towards her cut off her voice. She wanted him to tell her that it was all going to be all right and everything would be fine. She knew that wasn't going to happen and that she would have to bolster her own courage and she found that she couldn't look into his eyes as he spoke.

"Come on," he ordered her and she did, knowing that she had over stepped the boundaries with questioning him at a time like this. This was what he did, what he lived and was in his blood. She had been foolish to question him in the art of warfare. If she were to see this through to the end, then she knew she would have to toughen up somehow. She would have to find her strength in him, or be crushed underneath her own fear of the unknown. She had just declared that she trusted him and his judgement, she had to back up those words.

In silence the two of them moved down the quiet back street and crossed down into a secluded alleyway and over to the busier street. John lifted his hand and caught the attention of a taxi driver. Opening the door he let Melissa into the cab first and followed in after, telling the driver to take them to the airport. He then sat down and fell into a deeper silence, and Melissa could see that he was deep in thought about the entire situation, his arms folded across his chest.

Melissa sat with her handbag on her lap, and started a pleasant conversation with the driver, generally about the fact that there was a bit of a pile up due to some sort of gas explosion not to far away from where they were.

"A gas explosion?" Melissa questioned, "Maybe some old woman left the oven on?" she added as a thought, just trying to be relaxed about the whole thing.

"Certainly has caused a mess of things." the driver told her, looking out of the windscreen. "Going on holiday?" He then asked keeping the conversation going with the cheerful seeming woman.

"Yeah, we're going to Thailand, on our Honeymoon." Melissa lied, seeing as everything else she told the taxi driver had been a lie, she might as well continue on with the fabrications. Naturally, the taxi driver was happy for them and gave John a look through the mirror. He was looking particularly grumpy and looking out of the window in his guarded position in the cab, no hint of happiness in his face, but then they were really running for their lives not enjoying wedded bliss. As Melissa looked over him as the taxi driver did, she couldn't help but feel herself swoon, but then she was particularly besotted with the man and had been ever since he had saved her those months ago, she had even grown used to the horribly out fashioned bandanna.

"Congratulations," the taxi driver said with a level of hesitation to his voice, he then fell into silence himself, uncertain on how to take the happy couple from that moment on.

The rest of the journey seemed to take longer than it should have done, and there was a level of apprehension part way though the trip when she noticed the same car more than once behind them. She was certain that Rambo had seen them to, so didn't mention it to him. Besides it could just be more of a coincidence, the airport was a busy place. The door to the taxi was opened by the driver and he let them go, Melissa reached into her handbag for her purse to pay the man, with a smile. "Good luck," he leaned in to tell her, eyeing her husband. She nodded to him and parted ways to join with John once more.

"I think we we're followed," she told him looking over her shoulder to see if she could spot the car pulling up behind them. "There," she pointed towards the black car as discreetly as she could. John nodded to her and made his way to the entrance of the airport, he held the door open for Melissa to get into the building, but didn't follow behind her. Heading towards the black car to find out who was trying to kill him.


	2. Chapter 2

Melissa looked over her shoulder suddenly feeling very vulnerable out in the open near the middle of the airport so abruptly alone. Giving a glance back outside she saw Rambo heading towards the parked car, the black doors opening. She lowered her head and held the bridge of her nose, wondering how on Earth she got into this terrible mess.

* * *

><p>"Got a light love?" Came a question from near the entrance of the alleyway, The sound of far to many cigarettes a day gave the male voice a gravelly tone, it sounded unfriendly.<p>

Melissa rose a hand to the speaker who she could barely see and answered, "Sorry, I don't smoke," she then went to make on her way. Another person stepped out in front of her, and she couldn't help but give a small sigh for the men's lack of imagination, not seeing the situation as serious as it really was.

"Sure you don't, everyone smokes these days," the first man spoke again from behind her though Melissa's eyes were fixed on the man in front of her, and the knife that he was flicking in and out of it's handle. In and Out. She couldn't stop her eyes from falling onto it.

"Come on guys, you don't have to do this," Melissa stated, the nerves sounding in her voice. She realised that she was trembling uncontrollably, her throat felt dry and her stomach felt sick.

"Sure we do," said a third voice from the insides of the alleyway, and for a fleeting moment Melissa thought that she recognised the voice from somewhere, but as the face came into view it wasn't anyone that she knew.

Within seconds the knife was against her throat and her arms we're being held behind her back as as much as she tried to struggle she couldn't get free from his tight grip without slitting her own throat on the blade that the man with horrible breath was holding against her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the third man fumbling with his belt, and she knew that from the start their intention had been to take advantage of her. She made to scream, but the man in front of her pressed the blade tighter against her and her eyes closed blinking tears from them.

"Don't even think it," he told her savagely the knife drawing close enough to cut her skin. Melissa whimpered as the blood from the small cut dribbled over the knife and down the side of her neck, feeling that there was no escape and no way out of the events that had been set in motion.

The man who wasn't holding her came a bit closer, his trousers already part way over his hips, "Let her scream, noone'll come, makes 'em sound better, begging," he taunted.

"Sick fucker," one of the other guys said through a cruel laugh. The fact that he was party to everything clearly hadn't dawned on him.

"Please," Melissa begged, the hot tears streaming down her face, "Please, don't," she hated the way her voice didn't sound like her own and her pride had been shattered in seconds. Her pleas went ignored by the men and their jeers continued, the last of the men made his way to her, his hand touching her thigh and she recoiled from his touches, a small scream escaping her lips finally.

The backhand came and the knife was replaced just as swiftly, the look of death in the man's eyes frightened her as much as the blade did.

A quick wave of violence and the knife was pulled away from her neck. Melissa had trouble seeing through her tears, but there was someone else with them in the alleyway. The man with the knife was flying away from her, crashing noisily into a pile of trash bins the other side of the alleyway. Her arms fell free from the tight grasp behind her and Melissa rolled her shoulders around before using her hand to wipe away the tears as they rolled down her cheeks.

With her vision clearer she saw a large built man piling into the man with his pants down while the other was struggling to get himself up out of the pile of trash bins, she turned to see the man behind her trying to get away from them, now that their rouse had been exposed by the intruder his resolve had clearly cracked and he was frightened for himself.

Shaken there was nothing that Melissa could do, she was still trembling. The sound of smash, smash, smash, pulp brought her attention back to the fighting in the alleyway and she noticed that the large built man's arm was covered in blood. She thought for a horrible moment that the man with the knife had gotten to him, but he was still dazed among the bins and rubbish. Her eyes then fell on the other man, and his caved in face. She gasped in horror and covered her mouth with her hand the sick feeling returning again as the smell of blood filled her nose. The large built man left the other man on the floor with his face bleeding, a low moaning sound escaping from him.

"You okay?" the large man asked her, and she nodded dumbly as he turned from her and rounded on the man with the knife. Sprawled between the bin, he said, "I don't want any trouble, man." a pleading tone to his own voice, and the large man lent down and picked up the knife he had been carrying. The weapon looked small in his hands, but no less dangerous.

The large man then lent forwards and picked up the man and in one fluid movement the knife was in the man's gut, the blade twisted and snapped from the handle in the large man's hands. The assailant groaned and held his stomach as he was dropped onto the floor, bleeding through the wound his blood seeping across the dirty floor.

Melissa felt weak at the knees as she wasn't sure to thank the man or run for her life away from him, fearing the violence that he had brought with him. As the man turned to her again, her resolve broke completely and she turned to a thankful mess, telling him over and over how grateful that she was for him saving her. Her breath was shallow, and she took in a deep breath as she tried her best to calm herself down, last thing she wanted now was to turn into a jabbering mess. With her composure gathered and the frantic panic of the alleyway somewhat calmer she gave her saviour a bit of a better looking over, older, tall as well as strong though there was something lacking about him, his clothes were messy, to a level more so than the fight could have done. He headed towards the mouth of the alleyway and picked up a bundle.

"Wouldn't be a good idea to be caught with them," he told her flatly and the sounds of sirens could be heard over the general noise of the day.

As quickly as her heeled shoes let her she joined him at the mouth of the alleyway and with a very quiet voice, she requested. "Could you walk me home?"

* * *

><p>Melissa headed towards the doorway that she had only recently been pressured through, the airport much to open to hide her concern with what was going on. Her heels clicked on the cold marble floor as she hurried to the entrance, just in time to see Rambo pulling a well dressed man from the car, and pulling him away to the side of the building away from public view. A couple of people looked their way, but generally paid them little attention, not concerned for the welfare of another person, their own lives and flights much to important to ruin their schedule by butting in on another man's affairs.<p>

By the time Melissa had made it round the corner, Rambo was dragging the man further away from the front parking lot to a much more discreet location, both his arm and his tie being held in order to keep him choked, refraining him from shouting out. By the time he had been dragged and pushed against a chain link fence he was struggling for breath. Melissa caught up to the two of them just in time to hear Rambo demanding;

"Who sent you?" his voice was as hushed a shout as he could muster. His arm war held across the man's chest and neck keeping him from running away in a panic.

"I don't know what your talking about!" the man replied, and Melissa could see his legs shaking in fear and if she we're in her mans position she'd have already let the stranger go.

"Don't give me that horse crap!" Rambo spat back to him, his other hand moving into the other mans suit jacket and pulling out a wire which he pulled from the jacket and threw on the floor behind him. "Why are you following us?" he then pressed onwards. Observing their actions, Melissa cursed herself for being so weak and having believed the stranger, then why was he shaking so violently?

Rambo moved his arm away from the mans chest as he started to shake even stronger, his mouth foaming. He then leapt back and cursed, letting the man slump against the chain fence to the floor. Cyanide or some other poison. Some sort of capsule inside his mouth somewhere he guessed. As the man fell to the floor he saw Melissa move closer and he knelt down next to the now calming body, his hands feeling for something in his pockets, upon finding the mans wallet he took it and put it in his back pocket so that he could look over it later.

He then stood up and held his hand out again for Melissa, who took it willingly. Heading back to the front door to the airport arm in arm. "Honeymoon might be off." he told her without smiling, his expression as serious as ever. His mind was actively trying to think of who would have sent someone like the stranger after them, someone who was clearly an amateur, but had no desire to get caught with their pants down, hence the suicide.

Melissa looked to him and smiled at the shared joke, her hand opening the front door to the airport once more and as soon as they were through the doors, Rambo reached into the back of his jeans and emptied the clip from the handgun hidden there and put it into the nearest bin, and did the same a few steps later with the firearm.

Giving a quick look around the open plan building, he nodded towards a side door. Melissa took note of the direction he was leading them in and followed silently. Although the door had a staff only notice it went completely ignore, faced with a small flight of old stairs they descended, opened another door, set off an alarm and casually headed towards a small white private plane. The door of which was open and on the steps sat an older, silver haired man. Upon seeing Rambo and his female companion heading towards the plane he stood from where he had been sitting, holding a broad rimmed white hat in his hands. He raised a hand to the pair to signal where he was, although the gesture wasn't needed.

"John," he nodded to Rambo and gave Melissa a brief look over and nodded to her also though he didn't greet her, he just let them onto the plane before him.

John motioned to a seat for Melissa settle into as he and the man who had greeted him headed to the pilot box. "It'll be loud in here," he told her emerging from the pilots cockpit a few moments later with a pair of large ear phones. "Put these on," he then added passing the over-sized things to her. She took them with an unusual sour expression on her face and put them over her ears. She couldn't help but feel somewhat concerned for where they were going, and why they were running like this from an unknown source. She couldn't help but feel afraid, and foolish. She knew the colour had drained from her face.

"I'm afraid to fly," she told the back of the cockpits door once John had hidden himself away again.

Once he'd closed the door behind him, and settled into the co-pilot seat, the engines for the small cargo plane started as loudly as he had promised they would be. He glanced over to the man who he had sat next to, and he knew that this favour was pushing the boundaries of his friendship with the man.

"Thanks," Rambo told him over the roar of the plane, if he had been heard his appreciation hadn't been registered or responded to. He then figured that the man was irritated with having to bail him out of trouble again. He then put his headset on, and the voice sounded static and hollow in his ears, he was talking to the flight tower, asking which runway was theirs to use, and if they had clearance. Everything was in order, and as the older man's hand moved to press a couple of buttons, Rambo fell quickly into never forgotten duties and pressed them for him, confident in his actions, feeling nothing more than relief to be away from the nightmare of the city.


	3. Chapter 3

The roar of the cities traffic had no forgiving let up. Mostly it would be workers making their ways home after long days in offices. Melissa still felt the adrenaline rushing it's way through her system, her mind was afire with the action she had just seen. Her steps along the side street felt a little uneven and she was certain that she was walking far too slowly, but the man that accompanied her had fallen in step with her. She felt a little foolish for suddenly trusting the man who'd just prevented something tragic from happening to her; just because he was a helpful by passer didn't mean that he was friendly. It wasn't lost on her that the man was roughly shaven, poorly kept, needed a shower and carried his bed with him in a rolled up bag. She figured that he was some sort of drifter; if he'd been a local street urchin she was certain she'd seen him about before, she was certain that she hadn't.

Feeling slightly awkward for the long hanging silence she spoke; trying to keep her voice steady. "Thanks again," she started, "Look, I'm not normally this forward, but can I get you something to eat?" she asked. Maybe doing something like that would be a good start to returning the debt? She had no idea how these sorts of things worked themselves out and she had little else that she felt like she could offer.

The look that she got from the man wasn't something that she thought would happen; he looked suspiciously at her, as though she wanted something more from him. His expression didn't change as he answered, "Sure why not," it couldn't hurt to get some food down him before moving on. Why not use the resources that we're being presented to him?

Melissa smiled up at him knowing of a small diner that they could get something from. Silence fell again; with the distraction of having somewhere to go it didn't feel as awkward as the walk had done a few moments ago.

The diner was a classic, a bar to one side and a row of tables to the other. A single waitress who walked about with a hot coffee pot, a small television behind the bar which the chef was lazily watching. The place was quiet especially for the time of day. The man put his bag down on the seat next to him and she sat down across from him, picking up a menu and passing one over. As he reached out his hand to take it from her she quickly asked. "Is your hand alright?" Noticing that his knuckles were red, grazed, bleeding.

"It's nothing," he replied, he'd not noticed any pain in his hand. He'd been through worse. What caught him nearly off guard; was the fact that she actually sounded worried. There was a real level of concern in her voice. He lifted his hand to look at the blood that covered it. Dried and fresh. What did it matter?

Melissa called the waitress over and asked her to bring a glass of water. She then excused herself and headed off to the rest-room; quickly returning with some paper towels. With a glass of water waiting for her on the table she picked it up and poured a small amount of water onto the towels and sat down again. "Hand," she demanded of the man in front of her, holding out her own.

Hesitation. The demand from the woman asked for more than just the simple offering of a hand. She was demanding trust; something that was so much harder to give than a barely injured hand. Hesitation. How could he betray everything that he had been taught, been trained? His guards had been up for so long he didn't even know how to go about bringing them down, yet his hand slowly moved towards her. It stung slightly as she put the paper towel over his raw knuckles, but the pain didn't register.

His hand felt rough, but she hadn't expected anything different. With her hand holding the paper towel on his; she once again looked to him. Her smile was bright and welcoming and she finally introduced herself. "Melissa," she said.

With something of a laugh of his own; the humour in the situation wasn't entirely lost on him. "Rambo, John." he told her.

* * *

><p>The small plane quickly grew in altitude, although the relief was evident; there was also a feeling of gratitude and reunion. Rambo looked to the man sat next to him. He looked older than John had ever wished to see him. Upon his realisation he felt guiltier than he had ever done before in his life. Dragging the only man he called family into another of his problems. His fights. He looked away again out the front windscreen, unable to keep his eyes on the man.<p>

"Who's the girl, Johnny?" He heard the question loudly in his ears from the headset, he had known the question was coming. So why had it caught him unaware? He thought he felt himself flush with embarrassment; but wasn't sure if the emotion was something that he could feel.

"A friend," he answered trying to be evasive over the answer.

Their friendship had, until now, been entirely professional. There had been times where because of that friendship, they had gone above and beyond the call of duty for one another. Now things felt sticky. Topics that were hard to approach from either side.

"Any idea who's after you?" Came the next question from the older of the two men.

That was something that felt more comfortable; back to business. Rambo took the stolen wallet out of his pocket. Flipping it open it was scarcely filled, no notes, no loose change. Just cards. "Not yet, but they are professionals." he spoke into the headset while looking over the cards. A single bank card, the name on which – Mr. L. Dekanozov. - was clearly Russian. Rambo wasn't sure if he should believe it was real or not. The only dealings he could recall having with Russians was over twenty years ago now. The man flying the plane had been with a part of that ordeal. There was a photo ID of the man also in the wallet, which seemed really sloppy to have in there; which was what made Rambo question the name.

Rambo held the ID in front of Trautman's nose so that he could see it. "Mean anything to you?" he asked, though he was doubtful to get anything. "He's the man that followed us to the airport," he then explained as he saw the pilot shaking his head.

"I assume you lost him?" Trautman asked

"Poisoned himself before I could get anything out of him," he explained.

Trautman looked at him then; he felt angry at the scrutiny. He knew that letting the man kill himself was sloppy and he was already chastising himself for it.

"I'll run the ID," Rambo's former senior officer told him taking it from the other man's hand. Without pause in his words he then explained. "You need to lose the girl. I can put her up for a while, but you won't be safe with her."

The words hadn't been unexpected, but they still stung.

"Got a safe house?" Rambo asked, without answering the statement about cutting Melissa loose. He didn't want to have to let go that soon; she had been the only kind civilian he'd come across that didn't want something from him in return.

"You know I have," Trautman replied, he'd already got one in mind that would be perfect for Rambo to stay in. Up in the thick of the forest; well out of sight from above. Only a few miles from where Trautman himself lived. Safe. Secure. Hidden. Perfect.

Rambo nodded and stood up from the co-pilot seat. He owed Melissa at least enough to tell her what was happening; where she was staying. Opening the door, to the rest of the plane, it was cold back where she was sitting and she had drawn her knees up. Her head was lowered; the headphones barely covered her ears. Touching her on the shoulder to get her attention. She looked up to him; her face pale, tears had been streaming down her eyes. She had been shaking and he couldn't tell if it was from the cold, fear or adrenaline. It reminded him of the night that he had met her. She looked as vulnerable as ever she had done. He sat down next to her; although he wanted to talk to her there was little point above the roar of the planes engine. It didn't take her long to move next to him; holding on tightly for a small degree of comfort. The plane turned. They'd be heading for more of a descent soon, he could tell Trautman had started to bring the plane down due to the lurch in his stomach. Melissa felt it too, her fingers seemed to tighten on his shirt. Stony faced he looked out the small window over her head. The news that they'd be parted soon still sat ill with him; it was unavoidable. He couldn't take her with him and expect to survive. No more than he could expect her to come and put herself in dangers way; just for him.

Melissa pulled away from him only a moment later; the small level of comfort enough to keep herself together. She knew it wasn't his way to return it; she knew that he couldn't. Biting her bottom lip and looking out the window over the clouds to where he stared. Wondering what was on his mind, and had made him come back here. She looked to him; her expression a question. He then made to stand again, believing he needed to help Trautman land the plane.

He felt confused. Torn. Between what he knew had to be done; and what he wanted. Melissa was different. He found that he couldn't commit to the thought of just dropping her. He looked back to her as he opened the door to the cockpit. Ready to get the plane back on the ground. Not ready to let go. Not ready to be alone again.


	4. Chapter 4

Reaching up John helped Melissa onto the dock out of the plane; she looked small stood between himself and Trautman. She looked across the landscape in front of her. A private beach. Directly in front a large white beach house. She assumed it was where Trautman lived; had retired. Her feet felt uncomfortable on the sand, unable to find their footing properly. She stumbled, but caught herself without aid. There was something happening that she hadn't been told. How she knew she couldn't exactly say; maybe it was the silence that had fallen between the two men. She felt suspiciously uninformed. Paranoid.

The evening was cool, but a warm welcome compared to being inside the back of the plane. The fresh air as she crossed the beach was equally as welcome. It made her head clearer, and she promised herself no more tears. Somehow.

The three of them got to the porch; the light over head penetrating little of the darkness around them. It was the older man who broke the silence, and introduced himself to Melissa. "Colonel Samual Trautman, Ma'am," he said, giving his name and rank. Though his eyes fell to Rambo as he spoke. It wasn't that he was disinterested in her; just more interested in his boy. If he could still call Rambo that after all these years. Rambo pushed passed and into the house, turning the light on before he entered the room. The feeling of paranoia ebbing from Melissa into him. He felt wary of this place; it felt too serene.

"It is my retirement home," Trautman said, looking a little offended as he made his way into the building. "Can I get you a drink?" he asked Melissa as she followed in behind them.

"No, thank you," she answered a little put out that she hadn't had the chance to introduce herself in return. She didn't need to she was certain. He'd already know. Trautman made his way over to a cabinet and took out a couple of glasses; pouring some strong whiskey into the glasses. He handed one over to Rambo, who put the glass down on a coffee table.

"What are you going to need, John?" He asked.

"Not much. Good knife. Need to replace my .45. Bow if you've got one."

"Anything else?" Trautman could have guessed the list so far.

"Map of the area, I assume there's basic kits up there,"

"You got it." Trautman told him. "You'll have everything by morning,"

"Up where?" Melissa asked suddenly, finally fed up of being completely ignored. "Can one of you tell me what is going on?" She asked, looking between the two of them. Her hands on her hips; expression icy.

"I have to go away for a while," John answered. "Getting away is the safest thing that I can do," he added, as if safety was a good enough reason to be running away from her. For dumping all this and seeking shelter; rather than dealing with the problem head on. He felt like a coward. He felt wrong.

Melissa shook her head; she didn't want to start an argument. She suddenly felt cold again. Abandoned. She'd promised herself no more tears, and would stand by that. She couldn't let them fall again. The shaking of her head turned to a nod as she mulled over the options in her head.

"The safe house," Trautman started to explain, "Is six miles into the forest, back here." He went on, vaguely pointing out of the window. Not that the safe house could be seen from the window, but it was out there somewhere.

"I'll also send for information on that ID you found, just in case." he added; falling into a more professional manner. He'd drive Rambo up there now. If it wasn't dark. The dark made the roads dangerous, and the whole idea of this was to keep the man safe.

Melissa moved to the sofa and sat herself down. She looked to her hands; they were shaking badly. She knew that she was angry with the entire situation. She already felt like the past six months of trying to know and understand her man had already been unravelled within seconds of being near Colonel Trautman. She couldn't blame it entirely on him, he had been called. Without his intervention they'd still be back in Auburn, knee deep in shit. She was grateful for the help; she was livid at what all this would undo. After this, she wouldn't be able to go near him. Wouldn't be able to touch him. Not without him feeling repulsed by her fingers of his skin. She'd have to reshow him that getting close to someone wasn't a sign of weakness. That she wasn't going to stab him in the back while he slept next to her. That there was nothing wrong with being physically and emotionally close to someone. It had taken more than three months for her to be able to do more than touch his hands and engage in more than lighter conversation. The only thing that kept her sane with him being there was simply that; he was there. He'd not left her apartment yet. The other three months had been spent talking. Simply talking. Mostly about the experiences that he had been willing to share. She had been left too fill in a lot of blanks; she'd started to guess some of them. She'd never been forceful in getting him to speak to her; getting him to talk about what he wanted to. They had never been physically intimate to the point of sexual intercourse. He wasn't ready to let those barriers down yet. She was understanding to that to a certain extend. She couldn't say that she understood; she had never seen real combat herself. She'd never seen someone she cared about blown to pieces. Never been tortured to an inch of her life. Never been unwelcome in her own country. She did her best; it seemed to have been good enough so far.

She rested her head in her hand; how could she explain what she was thinking to them. She'd just come across as sounding selfish. Someone was trying to kill him, she couldn't forget that. Looking to John and Trautman as they spoke to one another, making more plans.

"I don't want to let go," She announced to them. "Not entirely," she added. She didn't give her reasons; didn't say that it was because she didn't want to see her hard work and her trying to understand going to waste.

Her words nearly went unnoticed underneath their now near heated discussion. She couldn't understand what it was about; she assumed something she wasn't meant to. Were they even still speaking in English?

Abruptly John left the room. Melissa went to stand and follow him; Trautman stopped her. "I apologise for the ignorant treatment this evening," he said moving to a single seat at the end of the coffee table. He noticed the still full glass of alcohol at the end.

"He doesn't drink," Melissa said leaning forwards and picking up the glass; recalling an incident a month ago. Maybe five weeks. "Last time he did, he was arrested," she added, enlightening Trautman on the tale. "The loss of control frightened him; more than being back in a cell." She added, the weight of her words would not be lost on the Colonel. The gravity and importance of the cell in the life of their shared friend loomed on their minds for different reasons. For Melissa it was a symbol, something they had talked at length about. For Trautman a catalyst and reminder of violence and destruction. A reminder of Teasle.

Melissa drank the contents of the glass; the strong drink burnt it's way down her throat. "I hope you know what your doing Colonel Trautman," she told him, sounding more threatening that she had hoped. She knew she couldn't do a thing to him; even in his old age. She didn't want to either; he was a friend. "I don't want to see him hurt; I don't want to see him clam shut again." she said, her voice coarse from the alcohol. Her smile was one of fond affection, and of deep fear, and she couldn't help but let a tear fall down the side of her face. She wiped it away with her finger and stood from her seat.

"I've known Johnny a long time. He's the closest thing I have to a family." Trautman told her before she left the room, trying to assure her that he was doing what was right for his son. He didn't believe it himself, lock a tiger in a cage for too long and it becomes complacent. He didn't want Rambo complacent, he was the best. He was his best.

Melissa stepped through the house, peering into a couple of rooms before she found Rambo. The room looked like some sort of armoury. Many weapons lined the walls in rows; how a room like this could be legal she didn't know. She compared it to a room holding police evidence, except nothing was tagged. This was a private collection. All Trautmans. Carefully she placed a hand on Rambo's shoulder and she breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't flinch away from her touch. She felt tired, endlessly so. She couldn't recall how long she had been awake for now. She had been at work the day that her apartment had blown up; was that yesterday? Now that she was in his company; she couldn't think of a damned thing to say. Christ, how had things become even more complicated.

"Will we see each other again?" she asked, feeling gloomy about everything.

He turned to her then, looking away from all the guns and knives. Her question hadn't been something he was expecting from her. Her usual cheerful nature seemed to have cracked and been lost. She must have known that he couldn't show her the affection that she wanted.

She's never been through this.

Never been through loss.

Never been this frightened.

He told himself. He asked himself what she could be meaning; he knew.

"Yes," he told her with a firm assurance to his voice. "I don't want to let go either," he said, feeling that his confession was the right thing to tell her. He turned then and picked up a weapon from the wall. A small handgun; it was modern in design. He then turned back to Melissa. "Have you used a gun before?"

"Paintball." She answered. "I know, I know," she added raising her hands defensively. It was all she had known. She smiled at the memory of beating someone at the game. That's all it had been, a game. This wasn't a game. This was real. It dawned on her. "I don't think I can," she said trying to avoid taking the weapon. Recalling how relieved she had been to give back the last one she had been asked to hold.

"Don't think."

She took the gun after hearing the intensity in his voice. It felt lighter than she was expecting, but it still didn't feel right. It had looked smaller in his hand than hers, nearly laughably so. This wasn't a laughing matter. She put the small Taurus in her jeans pocket and hoped that she would never have to use the vile thing.

"Should I leave you to get prepared?" she asked, not wanting to become a distraction.

"No, don't." he told her, reaching out and drawing her closer. She lent into him; resting her head on his strong chest, and closed her eyes. He rested his head on the top of hers, knowing that he had to prepare mentally for the struggle for survival ahead; he couldn't pull away from this moment. A moment that he didn't entirely feel comfortable in. A moment that like many others in his life felt so wrong. This wasn't wrong, he told himself. This was overdue.


	5. Chapter 5

The safe house wasn't much to look it. He hadn't expected it to be. The basic log cabin wasn't furnished. It boasted a small kitchen area, with all the luxuries of modern life stripped from it, a fireplace that hadn't been cleaned since it's last use and a small area which was used for a bedding roll. For sanitation the building had an even more basic out house around the back of the building. Rambo opened the door after giving the safe house a quick look over, to rejoin Trautman on the porch. The house was surrounded by trees and undergrowth; it was totally secluded and in that sense it was perfect for his needs. Off to the side of the building there was a stack of chopped logs ready for use on the fire. He doubted they would be dry enough for good use in the fireplace right now, he would have to collect some more.

Without saying a word Rambo picked up some of the bags that he had brought with him and took them inside. It wasn't that he was feeling bitter about being taken away from what he'd been starting to think of a normal life; he couldn't place that grudge onto his father figure. It wasn't even the early morning that had put him in a sour mood; early mornings we're a part of the job. A job that he hadn't had for many years, old habits die hard.

Trautman followed into the room a few moments later, his look was apologetic and he was struggling with one of the larger bags. "Sorry it's so basic son." he told Rambo, he was being sincere. Rambo didn't know exactly how to take it, wasn't used to everyone being so nice. Or giving. No one had been all those years ago when it actually mattered, why should they change now? Why had they changed?

Maybe because the war had been out of the eyes of the public and mostly forgotten.

Maybe because no one gave a shit about it any more.

Yet someone clearly did.

Because someone was trying to kill him.

"It's fine." John told his father, the place wasn't as bad as Trautman was making out, he could work with the small place. It was a roof over his head that wasn't a cave, or a cell. That was something. He had had bad experiences with both; he'd not like to repeat either of them.

There was a lot to be done, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle.

"Why don't you go one home." Rambo told Trautman, he wanted the older man out of the way. Mostly so that he didn't get hurt. Not that he didn't think the old Colonel couldn't handle himself still. He would be a fool to think otherwise. It was more the fact that there was nothing he could do here; Rambo wanted to do it all for himself.

"If you need anything, we packed a flare gun." Trautman said, looking over to one of the bags resting in the far corner of the room. John nodded as Trautman opened the door to the porch again and left the safe house. He closed the door behind him, knowing that Rambo wouldn't follow him to see him off. They didn't have that sort of a friendship. It didn't need to be done.

The moment that Sam Trautman had left the building Rambo lent against one of the walls and slumped down it, pulling one of the bags over and going through the kit that he had been left with. Keeping his mind on the job, just like he had been trained to do.


End file.
